The First
by Irish Ghost
Summary: Sarah MacKenna has a very interesting and colorful history, and that's before she joins SHIELD as the head of the medical teams. She works with spies, assassins, and agents, and is unflappable in the face of danger. When the Avengers assemble, they will need a medic. What will she bring to the team? Will she be able to work with the group of misfits?
1. Chapter 1

_On board the SHIELD Helicarrier, in the hours following the Battle of Manhattan..._

Shawarma was going to have to wait. The Avengers, battered and beaten as they were, had been transported back to the Helicarrier for a massive debrief. None of their minds were focused on the meeting. Their minds were travelling to the medical wing, to one of their own.

Tony was thinking of how he had woken up, how carefully she had hidden her wounds until she collapsed in front of Loki, the blood pouring from her. Clint and Natasha could only focus on the paleness of her skin, of how completely still she was. Steve and Thor remembered carrying her to the quinjet, ordering the pilot to scurry back to the Helicarrier with all speed. Bruce? Bruce was running through her vitals and condition until the physicians took over and they had been whisked off to this de-briefing.

Fury took a long look at them all, and tiredly sighed. "This is the part where I get to tell you all the good and bad news about Agent Sarah MacKenna's condition." As one, they all perked up and focused on Fury. Tony looked at Nick with a hopeful look on his face: it was MacKenna, after all, that had saved him after the Hulk returned him to life. Thor's hand was gripping Mjolnir to try and appear stoic and calm, but it was only barely working. Clint and Natasha both looked at Fury and their pitiful stares cut him like a hot blade in butter. Dr. Banner, now wearing a temporary SHIELD uniform under a lab coat, looked uncomfortably close to freaking out, but he had a tight lid on 'the other guy'.

It was Captain Steve Rogers that Fury was worried about. MacKenna and Rogers had a working history from the Second World War. She had been a test subject for human augmentation, thanks to her peculiar gift. She had been akin to a mentor to Rogers over in Europe, or so the records read. They had been too busy in the last few days to properly reintroduce themselves, although she was the one to read him in on the Avengers Initiative. Rogers was sitting still, his tired face refusing to give an inch. It was as if he was holding onto everything that his training had drilled into him just to stay awake and focused. His injuries (which Fury had noticed but chose not to bring up) were brushed aside as unimportant: he would heal with rest and time. His focus was on his teammate.

Nick Fury looked at them all, and decided to simply bite the bullet. "Agent MacKenna is in the medical wing under intense observation. Her injuries are severe. The on-staff surgeons have been working on her for approximately five hours, about the length of this debrief. That is all I know."

"So what?" Tony Stark quipped, his sarcasm getting the better of him. "Is that supposed to be the good news?"

"Yeah, Stark. It is." Fury was tired, too, but his pride refused to show any of the turmoil going on within him. "Because the bad news would be that she didn't make it. However, I haven't heard anything from medical yet." He took one last look around at his team, the Avengers Initiative come into the flesh, and nodded. "I suggest that you all take a trip to medical and have them give you a look over. They will know more than me at this point. Now, get going."

It would have been a mad rush to the door in any other situation, but the Avengers one and all were beyond the point of exhaustion. They settled for a somewhat dignified exit and turned their feet to the medical wing. The agents around them stopped whispering and pointing as they passed by, thanking the Avengers for defeating Loki and saving Manhattan.

Bruce opened the door to the medical bay, and the anthill flurry of activity taking place at the moment. Most of the occupants of chairs and beds had mild to moderate wounds. Nosebleeds, minor contusions and abrasions were triaged to chairs, while various agents with airship sharpnel in body parts and broken bones were on beds being treated.

"There you all are! I was wondering when you would show up!" Dr. Joseph Nickerson, the second-in-command of the medical wing and Agent McKenna's right hand man, shoved through the crowd to the Avengers. "Come on, we got a private room for you all. Follow me." The exhausted heroes followed the graying head of the trauma physician through the crowd and to a metal door. With a quick biometric scan, Dr. Nickerson opened the door and quickly filed the Avengers in.

It was an eight-bed suite, insulated from the sounds around them and fully stocked for all incidents. One of the beds was missing. "Take a seat, and I'll take a look at you." Nickerson popped back to the door and called out for Anya and Jess. The two stone-faced nurses came in and got to action.

Dr. Nickerson did not speak a word about MacKenna as he examined the Avengers one by one. Clint has bruises to his back and side from falling off a building. Natasha had a wound on her head that required sutures. Bruce was fine: the 'other guy' had protected him from injuries during the fight. Thor had minor bruising and burns to his chain-mail that could have been serious if it had been skin. Steve needed sutures for his abdomen wound, healing as it was. Tony was put on a cardiac monitor for observation; he had, technically, been dead for four minutes. The nurses gave everyone an IV and hooked them up to pain meds and electrolyte-infused fluids to replenish and re-hydrate.

"What's going on with Mac?" Tony was antsy in the hospital bed, his fingers itching to get his phone and JARVIS to hack into SHIELD again for info.

Nickerson rubbed his green eyes and exhaled loudly. "I've heard nothing, guys. All I know is that she's coming in here for her recovery." Nickerson looked out the window. "Look, you just gotta be patient. I'll make sure that you guys get a complete update when she comes in here. In the meantime, I'll arrange for food to be brought up." With that, the harried physician left and closed the door behind him.

It seems to sink in for everyone at the same time, as they looked around at each other. They had won. Loki was defeated, muzzled in one of SHIELD's cells again. The Chitauri were gone, either dead on the streets of Brooklyn or floating in tiny pieces in space. Manhattan was still standing, albeit with some fairly substantial building damage and casualties.

Clint and Natasha looked at each other and breathed, a tiny smile cracking their faces. Bruce had closed his eyes and stretched out on the hospital bed, seemingly asleep. Thor and Steve were quiet, their elbows on knees as they waited for word. Tony was fidgeting in bed, fighting the urge to go to sleep and rest until he was satisfied with the news about MacKenna.

Thirty minutes passed by like a year, until another set of doors opened leading to the surgical suites. Everyone turned their heads to see what was coming in. Three nurses and two physicians were driving either the hospital bed or the various machines into their allocated spots. Medical jargon filled the air as the five interlopers discussed the patient in front of her teammates. Not a one of the Avengers understood what was going on, and they wanted answers.

As one, four of the five returned to the surgical suites, leaving one nurse in black scrubs alone in a room with six Avengers and an unconscious agent. The nurse appeared undaunted. Her black hair tied off in a short ponytail, she moved around to attach the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter to MacKenna, waiting for the numbers to come onto the screen. She wrote on the chart what was in the Foley bag, a set of vitals, and a head-to-toe assessment before even turning to give the heroes the time of day. When she was finished, she draped the stethoscope around her neck and pivoted on the spot to face the tired heroes.

"I'm not going to lie. Dr. MacKenna has quite a road ahead of her, recovery-wise. Her injuries are substantial, and the blood loss severe. She came in with only 30% of her own blood still perfusing her heart, lungs, and brain. We have her on several whole blood and plasma transfusions to come. Both of her lungs have collapsed, but we were able to re-inflate them. She's breathing with a ventilator for now. Fluid in and around her lungs was found; Dr. Isaacs inserted chest-tubes on both sides to drain the effusions. It's amazing that there was no damage to her heart or brain. The damage to her abdomen was severe: lacerated bowels in several locations, lacerations to her spleen, liver, and stomach, and damage to her kidneys. On top of that are broken bones compounded with second and third degree burns to her torso. Already, she's showing signs of septic shock." The young nurse stood before the heroes, and watched them all collapse.

"I don't understand. How has her healing factor not kicked in yet?" Bruce asked with a curious tone.

"Dr. Nickerson believes that it's from the massive blood loss. In addition, footage from the battle shows Dr. MacKenna healing civilians and police officers before healing Mr. Stark at the scene. Her healing factor was likely drained by the time that you captured Loki. The blood that we are transfusing is hers, so we should see some improvement over the next few days. I say, 'should', but frankly the surgeons don't know. Dr. MacKenna is an abnormal case with her regeneration abilities. It all depends on her at the moment." The nurse took another set of vitals, and left the room.

The Avengers were quiet as they got their first look at MacKenna since the Battle. Her eyes closed, it would almost appear that she was sleeping were it not for the ventilator breathing for her, her chest rising and lowering mechanically with the _whooshing _from the vent. The breathing tube in her mouth was taped in place, keeping her alive for the time being. The IV pole beside her was running two triple pumps: various bags of solutions that no one could decipher were dripping into their friend through several IV sites in her arms. There were three emptied bags of blood hanging, with another one dripping blood at a drop every few seconds. Her torso and abdomen were covered in damp bandages, the smell of burnt flesh still lingering in the air. Two Pleurovacs attached themselves to the chest tubes, one of either side of the bed, suctioning blood out from her chest cavity. The blanket came to rest at MacKenna's hips, her hands resting on top of the folded sheets. She was so still...

Not a one spoke a word. The nurse came back into the room with several plastic bags, and Mac's sword in hand. "The surgeon saved what personal affects he could." She gave them to Steve, a compassionate look on her face. "Look, I have no idea what you are undergoing right now. However, I've worked with Dr. MacKenna for the last two years. She's a fighter; I have faith that she'll pull through this." The nurse took a shaky breath. "I'm going to check on your food. Would anyone like anything?"

Everyone shook their head, and the nurse left again. Mac's sword rested against the wall. Steve opened one of the bags and dumped the contents on his bedside table. He sighed. "Everything's here. Thor? You might want to take a look."

The Asgardian walked over and picked up one of the amulets: a silver Mjolnir. "I knew not that she wore this, but I did know that she knew of my kind." Thor's massive hand wrapped gently around the amulet. "Friends, we must pray for her recovery."

"To whom?" Natasha was a well-known atheist. No one with her history would believe in a deity, in her opinion.

Tony, surprisingly enough, was the one to answer her. "To anyone that's listening."


	2. Chapter 2

-*TF*-

_A week before..._

"Dr. MacKenna! Commander Fury wishes to see you." There was a knock on the door leading to Sarah's quarters. She had just arrived to the New York Headquarters via helicopter, and had not even a chance to put down her sports bag or even get a drink of water, let alone wipe the sweat off her face from her practice. She sighed and opened the door, revealing Phil Coulson, one of the best handlers she had the privilege of training and working with. Ever impeccable in the typical black suit and tie, nothing was out of place. Compared to him, she was a figurative pig in mud.

"Tell him I'll be there in a mo, Phil, yeah?" There were traces of her Kilkenny accent still lilting in her voice, but for the most part, Sarah sounded like an typical American. However, she tended to slip into UK slang every once in awhile, particularly when she was stressed. "I'm not going to Fury until I've at least had a shower."

"Nice try, Mac. This is a Level Seven protocol. Drop your gear, and go see Fury." When it was necessary, Coulson took no nonsense from anyone, not even from her. "Don't make me make it an order." Despite having trained him, Coulson had rank over Sarah as a field agent and handler. Still, they collaborated often for the care of the agents of his command, especially one Clint Barton and one Natasha Romanoff.

"You gonna explain to me why you yanked me off the rugby field in de middle o' practice? Do I even have time for a shower to appear presentable, or am I attendin' this meetin' in my trainin' rig?" Coulson did not even give her answers. He just smiled, turned, and began to walk away.

_Well, that answers that question._ Sarah shook her head as she walked down the hall in the opposite direction of Coulson, her gym bag tossed over her shoulder and hitting the back of her legs. The sound of her cleats against the tiled floor echoed through the corridor. The sweat beading on her brow and down her back dripped to the floor, but, at this point, Sarah could not care less. The purpose of this meeting was kept from her. Apparently, it was eyes-only between her and Fury. This should prove to be a curious affair. it had been quite a few years since something like this had happened.

As she walked, Sarah unconsciously began to list off what she needed to do once this was over. It was a habit of hers that she had developed over the years, to calm her down before any meeting with a superior. Take a shower, and get dressed in her work rig. Make sure to wash her practice jersey and her compression shorts, or else they were going to smell up her house. Make sure that the infirmaries at HQ and on the Helicarrier were fully stocked. She had no outstanding patients at the moment, so she did not need to catch up on health records.

It took her ten minutes of navigating through the literal rabbit's warren of corridors and side hallways until she came to Commander Fury's office. Three quick knocks on the steel enforced oak doors, and they opened automatically to reveal Fury's office.

Sarah had to admit: Fury's office probably had the greatest view in the building. It was a perfect panorama shot of the New York skyline. Of course, with reflective glass, no one could look in at the office. Fury kept his office stark: no decorations, no pictures. Just a desk, two chairs, and three massive computer screens. This was a work-only environment. Besides, Fury knew his tradecraft well enough to separate his lives and to never reveal personal information like that. Sarah ought to know: she was the one to train Nick in the first place.

"Dr. MacKenna. Thank you for coming in so quickly." Nick Fury was an intimidating man on a good day. However, his dark skin looked slightly off-colour. Had he not been sleeping? His black duster and vest were clean, but Sarah could spy a hint of tension when he moved his shoulder. The eyepatch, iconic of Fury, was slightly askew. Sarah could only postulate that Fury had been in some sort of struggle recently, and came straight here afterwards.

"Well, when Sitwell comes to the middle of Moakley Field wit' a 'elicopta and a message to come to HQ ASAP on your orders, it's kinda hard to resist de temptation. Especially since ye know never to call me when I'm on my leave unless it's an emergency. So, why am I here, Commander?" Sarah let her bag drop to the floor, and rolled her shoulders a bit as she talked, sitting in the chair in front of Fury's desk.

"For this. We are on full Level Seven Alert." Fury handed her a StarkPad and let her read. "The Tessaract was stolen last night by Loki, an errant Asgardian. He managed to turn some of my best agents into puppets, Barton among them, and has taken Selvig as well. We need a response team, and you're on it."

Sarah had just reached that page of the electronic folder. She read her orders quickly, and did not say a word until she was finished. "So, just so's I understand. You're orderin' me to join the Avengers?" Her eyebrows raised. "I t'ought dat project was binned."

"This is not the Avengers Initiative. We are simply gathering the best individuals together for the job of protecting Earth. You are one of the leading medical officers within SHIELD, with an impeccable service record and the right skills and abilities for the job. You are on the team as a full member, and as their medic. This, I'm sure, will keep you quite busy." Fury folded his hands on his desk. "In addition, your particular fighting style will come into play as a balance between several of the members."

"No kiddin', Nick." Sarah was one of the few people that were allowed to call Fury by his first name. The only other person was Coulson. There was a long history between the two of them, since SHIELD was activated in the late forties. However, Fury only knew her history from the Second World War onwards, in regards to her involvement with SSR and then with SHIELD.

"Sarah." Nick audibly sighed. "Look, we both know of your unique abilities. You will find that they will both come into play with interacting with this group. Your first assignment is to find Captain Rogers and convince him to join."

She chuckled. "Unique abilities... is that how you refer to dem, now?" Sarah politely passed the StarkPad back to Nick, and leaned back in her chair. With lightning fast reflexes, she grabbed the letter opener from his desk and slammed it into her chest. She gasped at the pain, and pulled it out to let her blood flow onto her practice jersey. Watching quietly, she saw her wound stop bleeding and close itself up in a matter of seconds. There was not even a scar left to show where she had just attacked herself. "Why don't you call it what it is: a key element that led to early experimentation on the part of the SSR to attempt to augment human soldiers without Erskine's serum." She chuckled once. "The blood never took in anyone else. There wasn't enough understood about genetics at the time. Colonel Phillips had me work with the Howling Commandos until I was reassigned. He never did stop whinging about it, the old goat." With a quick motion, she dropped the sanguine letter opener back on Fury's desk, sat back in her chair, and looked at him impassively.

Fury just stared at her, as if the display had not surprised him. "Yes, your ability to heal injuries and heal the injuries of other make you a perfect addition to the response team. You're to be on the Helicarrier with Rogers in two days time. More will be explained then." Fury passed her a paper file. "Here's the file for Captain Rogers."

"Understood, sir. I'll meet with Steve tonight." Sarah picked up her bag and rifled through it until she found what she was looking for. "Here, Nick." She tossed him a bottle of pills and a water bottle. "Take two of them while I stand here. It's a rapid-acting NSAID and skeletal muscle relaxant. It'll help your shoulder and chest, I suspect. I hope that you've seen someone for that gunshot wound. Through and through?"

Nick chuckled as he took the pills and drank, tossing them back at her when he was finished. "Yeah, I got it seen. But how the hell did you know?"

Sarah laughed as she left. "It's my job, Fury."

-*TF*-

Sarah had run to her apartment from HQ, needing the workout to centre herself. She maintained an apartment in central Brooklyn when she was not on the rotation to work, so it was a good two hour-long run. Since she had missed out on practice, she had to make a few phone calls. But first, she needed that shower.

Sarah had a routine whenever she was getting ready for work. She made sure that her apartment was clean and ready to be left for long periods of time. She would call up the captain of her rugby squad to apologize for missing any practice. Luckily, it was the end of the post-season, so she only needed to apologize for missing their last practice today. She would call on her neighbours to make sure that her mail was sorted and gardens watered while she was away. She usually had a bag ready to go under her bed in case she needed to get on the Helicarrier quickly.

She let her mind go blank as she cleaned up and got dressed. For tonight's meet, she would stick with a casual look: a long black button-up blouse that she always left undone with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a loose gray undershirt, and jeans. As she stared in the mirror to comb out her mid-back chestnut brown hair into its habitual braid, her gray eyes with golden flecks stared right back at her. Her slightly tanned skin, still youthful and unwrinkled, was the remnant of an amazing summer abroad: come winter, it would have faded back to its habitually paleness. Her watch slid onto her right wrist, and her necklace of amulets and rings tied back around her neck. Sarah never wore makeup since that incident in Italy where her face powder made her skin feel off for a week.

She went through the motions of making herself a cup of tea and supper. The smell of homemade meatballs and rice filled the air soon enough. With a strong cup of Earl Gray on the side, she was set. As she ate, she went over Fury's packet for Steve. She wanted to be ready for the meet tonight, and knowing what she could before facing her old teammate would help her immensely. Sarah had not seen Steve Rogers since the war. She had not been present for his thawing out, but she laughed a little when she read the transcription his reaction. That was typical of Steve: find a safe cover, and come up with a plan later. SHIELD should have come up with a better way of introducing him to the present. However, what was past was past.

As time drew closer for her meet-up with her old friend, Sarah performed one last task. Beside the entrance to her balcony, she maintained a small altar to the Morrigan. No one had any idea that Sarah was a practicing pagan, just like they had no idea of her true history. She lit dragon's blood, sage, and cedar, burning the incense to cleanse and centre her. She knelt and bowed before her patron deity, praying for guidance through the times to come. The little statue was offered mead and her homemade bread, as thanks for watching over her for all these years. Sarah knelt before the altar and meditated for a long while, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

When she was ready, Sarah grabbed her black greatcoat, bag, and kit and headed down to the main floor and out the door. With a wave of her arm, a taxi was at the door in minutes. She nodded to the driver, placed her bag in the seat beside her, and relayed directions before sitting back and enjoying the sunset's light over the city. Her destination was Gleason's Gym. According to the information packet that Fury had given her, this was where Steve came to work out after all of the patrons had left. Fury granted him some level of privacy, as Steve acclimated himself to the present times. Sarah's taxi stopped by the front door, but she took her time in getting out. This was the first time that she and Steve would be in the same room since the war.

She took a breath, paid the driver, got her bag, and walked in. This was going to be interesting...


	3. Chapter 3

Sarah looked around the gym, and shook her head at the sight. It was a remnant of the forties and fifties: wooden floors, worn boxing bags, and a ring that had seen far better days. It smelled of sweat, blood, and men. All that was missing was a sign on the front door that said 'Men's Only Gym: No Women Allowed'. It was not her first choice for a workout venue: she preferred her personal workout room with its tatami mat floors and open lighting back at her home, or the archery range that she had sent up on her land. However, for Steve, it probably was a little nostalgic slice of home: a place that still made sense to him after the tempest of confusion.

Staying in the shadows, Sarah leaned against the dimly lit wall and watched Steve pummel the bag ferociously. He was definitely pre-occupied with something: memories, dreams, or maybe even nightmares. Left and right, left and right, each punch hit the bag with enough force to knock out a man. Sweat trickled down Steve's face and onto his white t-shirt. His brow was furrowed, and the only noises he made were the grunts as he took out his confusion or anger or frustration- whatever was plaguing him- on the leather.

With one wicked punch, the bag flew off the hook and split in two, spilling sand on the floor as it hit the wall. Steve stood for a moment, catching his breath. He leaned down to the ground, picked up another boxing bag out of a line-up of six, and hooked it up to begin again. That was when Sarah intervened.

"Trouble sleeping, Captain?" Steve turned to face her, the disbelief clearly written there. Sarah pushed herself away from the wall and slowly walked towards him. She tried to make light of the situation, and grinned. "What's the matter, Steve? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"How... Sarah?" Steve sat on the bench, his weight threatening to break it. He kept his hands busy and began to unwrap the cloth that protected his knuckles.

"You're not the only person that's not entirely what they look like, Cap." Sarah walked closer, keeping her hands in the pockets of her greatcoat. It was the last bit of her old uniform: a black full-length greatcoat that brushed her ankles. Made from heavy felt, it had lasted since the War without a hint of wearing. On the shoulders were several patches that she had sewn on: a white-and-gold caduceus on a red hexagonal background, a red equilateral cross on a white circular background, and the grey and black badge of SHIELD.

"You know my ability heals my injuries?" Steve slowly nodded. "It also heals my body and prevents me from aging. I'll never die, Steve, unless under extraordinary circumstances." She kept her voice low as she sat next to him. She placed her hand on his arm. "See? Flesh and blood, Steve. It's still me." Steve gingerly placed a hand over hers, feeling her skin and the warmth of her blood pumping under his fingers.

"Prove it. How did we meet?" Sarah must have shocked Steve more than she initially realized.

She cocked her head at him, and smiled. "You were in the camp of the 102nd. It was just after that abysmal attempt of your 'Star-Spangled Man with a Plan' show. You and Peggy Carter were talking when you ran into me on your way to find Colonel Phillips. Then, we saw each other again when I volunteered to come with you and Peggy to retrieve the missing men from Schmidt's factory. I helped the men escape when you went to find Bucky."

"Sarah... What... what about the others?" The hopeful look on Steve's face nearly broke her heart. "Falsworth, and Dugan, and-"

"Dernier, Morita, and Jones are dead. Falsworth lives in London now, with his grandchildren. We exchange letters every once in a while, but we haven't been close since the Commandos disbanded. Dugan's back in the Midwest, but he and I don't really talk anymore because it's too painful for him to see me never changing. Phillips is dead, but his granddaughter and grandson both work in SHIELD. Howard is dead. Peggy..." She looked at Steve, and sadly smiled. "She never married. She's living in Manhattan now, with her brother and his children. Agent Sharon Carter is one of the finest agents that I've ever trained."

Steve relaxed momentarily, before darting his gaze back at her. "How do you know about SHIELD?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows and shook her head, laughing slightly. "Steve, I helped to found SHIELD with Fury, Phillips, Howard, and Peggy. I've been busy in the last seventy years, my friend."

"Doing what?" Steve looked happy for the first time. Here was a person that he knew, that was familiar to him. Here was someone who made sense, at least, that was his impression until she spoke again.

"Lots of things, and I want to tell them all to you. But, it's going to have to wait." Sarah pulled out the file from her jacket and handed it to Steve. "We've been given a mission. It's time to save the world again."

Steve opened the manila folder, and scowled when he saw a picture of the Tessaract. "HYDRA's secret weapon. I thought it went down in the middle of the Atlantic with me."

Sarah nodded. "That's what I thought as well. Turns out that Howard fished it out when he went looking for you. It's been in SHIELD custody since the mid-forties. I read over his notes. Howard thought that this could be the key to solving the world's energy crisis. It's a source of clean, fuel-free energy that is just waiting to be harnessed. He just didn't know how to go about doing it."

Steve closed the file and handed it back to her. "Who took it?" He was being to-the-point.

Sarah tucked the file back into her coat. "Fella by the name of Loki, Loki Odinson. According to the Norse lore, he's the god of mischief, of lies. His children are the ones to lead the battle for the end of the Norse Worlds. Turns out the lore is real. Loki's from another world, so for the sake of our combined sanity, I guess we can classify him as a highly intelligent extra-terrestrial."

"That's making it easier?" Steve looked confused, and sounded even more disbelieving. "Before I... fell, we hadn't even gone into space yet. Now we're facing off against aliens?"

"It sounds crazy, yeah, but for me, it sounds like just another day at the office. The world's achieved a whole new level of crazy since you left, Steve." Sarah sighed. "Our mission is to capture Loki, retrieve the Tessaract, and avoid at all costs a inter-galactic war. So what do you say, Cap? Are you up to saving the world again?"

Steve was quiet, before he looked at Sarah. "What happened to you, Sarah?"

She cocked her head at him. "What are you talking about, Steve?"

"I don't remember you sounding so... cavalier about this. You used to care. Our missions used to make you feel." His blue eyes seemed to peer through her, looking for some answers, a kind of explanation. "I mean, I barely knew you then. You always kept fairly quiet about your life, and I never pried. But what happened to you since then?"

Sarah stood up, turning her back to Steve. "That's what you want to know." Her voice was calm, but Steve could not see the fists curled in the pockets of her coat, could not see her face. "Steve, you've been gone for seventy years. How could you expect anything to be the same as it was? You changed in the few months that I knew you in SSR and in the Commandos." She turned to look at him, at his slightly guilty face. "How you expect me to be the same? So many things happened to me, Steve. That's my life: has been since I was born. My secrets are not to keep me safe: it's to save those around me from being hurt. It's my tried-and-true method of adaptation. That's survival 101, Steve: adapt, or die. I can't die, so I have no choice but to adapt. My alternative is to live in complete isolation. That is something that I swore to my family never to do." Her voice took on a sharp edge, before she took a cathartic breath.

"I'll make you a deal, just like we used to, Cap. You can join in the mission with me. If we're both alive when it's done, I'll tell you my story. All of it, with nothing left out. Or, you can choose not to join, and you'll never hear from me again." Steve stood as she talked, gathering his thoughts and his things. "I came to you, Steve, because Commander Fury asked me to. Otherwise, I had hoped to meet you at a better time, to tell you everything, to answer all of your questions. However, we're on a deadline right now, and personal matters have to be put aside for the success of the mission. You want a purpose: I'm offering one to you."

She reached out one of her hands. "So, what'll be, Steve?" Sarah could read Steve's face easily: he was confused. She wasn't what he remembered, and he was grasping at straws to make sense of this new world. He also wanted a calling. That was Captain America: a way for him to serve his country when they asked for it. How was this different? Sarah wanted to tell him everything- she had made that clear- and he remembered that she always kept her word back when they knew each other better.

Steve reached out, and gingerly took her hand. "So, when we do we start?"

Sarah wasn't having any of that. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Steve, I'm not made of bloody glass. Come here, you big lug." She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She rested her chin against his shoulder. Steve returned the hug in kind. "I promise you, Steve. I'll tell you everything that you want to know. I promise."

-*TF*-

_Back in the hospital..._

Steve held on to Sarah's hand as she lay there in bed. There had been no signs of her getting better, let alone waking up. The nurses came in and changed her dressings, monitoring her and administering pain medication. The other Avengers were still waiting here, waiting for Mac, for Sarah to wake up. It had been three days since the Battle of Manhattan. They had all taken shifts to clean up, to eat, but everyone's minds was on the occupant of this particular hospital bed.

Steve's other hand was holding onto Sarah's necklace. He had not seen this before, and gently looked at the amulets one by one. There were so many: a slim silver band with feathers etched into it; a golden triple spiral; a man's ring with a red cross on it; another ring with a moon and star; Thor's hammer; a five-pointed star; a piece of orange-golden translucent rock; a Japanese sigil, and more... where had she gotten them all?

Clint was the one to notice the change on the monitors, saw her eyes slowly. "Something's happening." They all looked to her. Steve felt her fingers close on his hand, the slightest of grips becoming a squeeze. Bruce opened the door and called for some help.

"Sarah? Can you hear me?" Steve held on to his hand like a lifeline. Her eyes jerkily opened as she turned towards him, and she blinked twice. Tears began to fall down her face when she felt the pain, the tubes, the whole agony of being in a hospital bed. She squeezed his hand harder and turned her gaze to Clint. She began to blink quickly. Only the two SHIELD agents recognized the gestures as morse code.

"Why... am... I... here?" Clint translated for her. "Cuz, Mac, you got your ass kicked." Thor and Steve bristled at him, but when Sarah smiled around the tube, they knew that it was okay.

Doctor Nickerson and his team were in quickly. They pulled out her breathing tube, and assessed her before hanging new bags of nameless medicines. Tony held a glass of ice water near her mouth for her to drink from. Her voice was raspy. "Did... we win?"

"Yeah, Sarah. We won." Steve gripped her hand. "We won."

Sarah nodded her head. "Paper, please... and a pen."

"Here." Tony held his StarkPad in front of her. "Write with your finger." Her hand was not steady, but her writing was legible at least. She had written out an address: 612 Memorial Drive, Salem, MA. She leaned back in bed, tired from the effort. "Tell Sitwell to... bring my journals... from back home."

"What? Why?" Everyone was confused.

"Because... I made a promise. It's time. Time to tell you guys."

"Tell us what, Lady Doctor?" Thor gripped Mjolnir.

Sarah looked at Steve. "Everything."


	4. Chapter 4

After a quick trip to Steve's apartment to get his things, Sarah called in for their ride. One of SHIELD's many quintets landed on top of Gleason's Gym for just long enough for the two of them to board and strap their duffels in place. Coulson was waiting for them in the passenger's seats, somehow managing to sit still. Sarah smirked: she, along with most of SHIELD, knew that Phil Coulson was a fervent admirer of Captain America. Everyone knew about the trading cards. She could see that Coulson was barely holding it together from going 'totally fanboy' on Steve, as the saying went nowadays.

"Captain. Doctor. Welcome aboard." Sarah reached for the headset and whirled her finger, the universal sign for the pilot to take off. "We should be arriving at the Carrier within ten hours." Phil's voice was tinny in the headset, but at least she could hear him clearly.

Sarah laid out on the bench and crossed her legs, getting comfortable for the ride. Steve looked to her. "Doctor? When did that happen, Sarah?"

She chuckled, and looked towards him. "Before I answer that, please call me 'Mac', Steve. Sarah is my formal name, and only my superiors use it. On this ship, only one man is superior to me. Besides, 'Mac' is easier for me to respond to in a crisis. Are you with me so far?" When he nodded, she continued. "I've been a certified surgeon since the war, Steve. With the Commandos, Colonel Phillips allowed me to be a medic but he preferred me to be a soldier. They already had many doctors serving with the SSR. With SHIELD, I'm the chief medical officer. On paper, I oversee everything that happens to all agents, from medical checkups to psych evals to inventory and supplies. In actuality, I serve more as a consultant these days. I serve a six month rotation working with the agents themselves, and I'm on call for the other six months. I'm not officially retired, but when Fury needs me or my advice, he knows where to find me."

Sarah returned her head back to staring up at the aircraft's ceiling, closing her eyes. She had done her bit for Fury. Captain America was now ready to join the Avengers. She heard Coulson talking with him, reading him into the mission. She smiled to herself, thinking of Steve learning how to use a StarkPad while watching clips of the other members. What would his reaction be when he met Stark or Romanoff, or Banner? Even better, what would he think of the Carrier when it was in full travel mode?

She opened her eyes when the chopper made to land. Reaching under the bench to unstrap her bag, every movement was economical. She could not afford to lose more energy than she could spare at this point. Sarah was functioning on little sleep over the last two days, and she wanted nothing more than to hit her bunk for a few more hours. Wants were not reality, though, and she had to carry on.

No one at SHIELD knew the full extent of the mechanics of her abilities, save that she could heal herself from almost every injury. Her powers, at first, were limited to herself, healing injuries and wounds that could kill, maim, or severely hinder any other normal person. That was not all of it, however. Over the years, Sarah had learned to project her powers on to the injuries of others, but it took far more energy than healing herself. It was not like a blood transfusion, where she could give her blood or her power to an injured person and they would heal like her from that time on. Phillips had tried that during the War: it ended up putting more soldiers in the infirmary from adverse reactions than helping their cause.

Over the years, Sarah learned that she functioned at her optimal peak when she took care of herself: lots of fluids, proper eating, exercise, and enough sleep. Lacking sleep, she needed to make sure that her energy reserves were full enough to make it through the next dew being said, as soon as they landed, Sarah left Steve with Coulson and Romanoff on the main deck and headed to the mess hall.

SHIELD food was formulated to be high-energy, high-protein, and incredibly healthy. That being said, it did not mean that it tasted any level of good. At this point, Sarah did not care. She would have eaten raw liver at this point. Luckily, the cooks had fresh fruit, rolled oats, cereal, sausages, cheeses, and milk. Gods, it was perfect! She piled her little bowl with blueberries, plain yoghurt, and granola before devouring it within minutes. It was the ideal meal to restore her energy levels and to replace the sleep that she barely got on the chopper ride. Finishing it with a glass of SHIELD's proprietary protein shake (awesome for energy, but lacking extensively in the flavour department), and Sarah was ready to get to work.

The next stop was back to her quarters. Sarah had a bare-bones presence on the Carrier, and her quarters reflected it. The majority of her managerial work occurred over teleconferences and phone calls. Her real presence was at the SHIELD Headquarters in New York, where the trainees and agents came for medical attention and rehabilitation. She was the terror of the medics, for damn good reasons. With an exception of only two agents, she could scare any SHIELD employee, field agent or not, into following her orders for a speedy recovery. Romanoff and Barton, she knew better than to try that after her first few encounters with them. For them, she gave them the orders as recommendations, and she would pick up the pieces afterwards if it was not successful.

She opened her door with a quick biometric scan. She felt the ship rumbling underneath her, and the overhead intercom message told everyone that flight prep protocols were now in effect. She smirked: Sarah would have loved to see Steve's face when the Carrier became its true form as the Helicarrier. It was too bad that she did not make a bet with him. She would have made a killing._  
_

During the time that it took to change from her civilian clothes into her SHIELD-issued scrubs (black with a unique black, red, and white strip specifically for her), and her labcoat, Sarah embraced the subtle mental transformation from a open-side flanker with Boston's women rugby league, a professor at Harvard Medical School, and a trauma surgeon at Massachusetts General, into Mac, her SHIELD counterpart. It was a different hat that she wore when working with some of the most patriotic men and women this side of the Atlantic. It was a honor to work with them, and so she took the time getting ready for every shift. She slid back into her running shoes (great for running, but also for standing still for long periods of time in the operating room), grabbed her tool kit and scrub hat, and headed down to the infirmary.

For some, a tool kit was a last-minute thought. For Mac, she had been working long enough to appreciate a set of tools that helped her to treat those under her care. Her plain black stethoscope wrapped around her neck gave her a sense of serenity, that Zen feeling that let her react and think that much quicker in some of the critical situations. Her multiple pens were tucked into the pocket of her lab coat. Her leg holster held a number of diagnostic tools: a cardio-metre (literally, a fancy ruler that helped her when measuring ECGs), callipers, tuning fork, reflex hammer, goniometre (a elongated protractor for measuring range of motion), tape measure, trauma scissors, forceps, her dissection and suture kit, and penlight. That, and a standard issue StarkPad for her electronic records, and she was ready to get back to work.

When the doors opened to the infirmary, she smirked and raised her voice a little. "Well, I see that we have plenty of room on our hands." None of the beds were filled by patients. That being said, two of the five nursing officers were necking by the supply closet. Dr. Nickerson, her right-hand man and second in command, looked up from his reading and smirked right back at her. "You two lovebirds can make sure that we're stocked. I will be less than impressed if we are short on supplies in a Level Seven situation." From the isolation rooms, Drs. Isaacs, Wade, and Osborn all came out and sat by her desk. "Fury called us all?"

Nickerson was the one to answer the question. "He's put the medical officers on high alert. The whole team's here: radiology, lab, nursing, rehab. Whatever's going on, Commander Fury wants all hands on deck."

Mac's tablet rang in the quiet. She opened the message window. One of the peons in the main deck was relaying Fury's request for her for a status report. "He wants a status report? Our status is ready and waiting. Tell Fury that we're good for whatever comes our way."

"Ma'am, he wishes you to be present for a de-brief meeting with Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner, and Agents Romanoff and Coulson on the bridge." Mac rolled her eyes.

"Tell him I'll be there _tout de suite._" She closed the window, and looked to her compatriots. "Time to face the music."

Isaacs laughed as she left, joking around with the others that she was on her way to her doom. Only one other person on this ship knew that she was a founding member of SHIELD, and that was Fury. The World Security Council was aware of her, but she had no time for shadowy dealings and politics. Fury was surprised when she told the computer screens just that. She was a doctor, damn it, not a spy or assassin. At least, not anymore...

She made her way to the bridge, SHIELD operatives on either side of her parting like the bloody Red Sea. She had a reputation, after all: they think that she did not hear them, but she knew that she was 'the grizzly bear', 'the porcupine', or 'the damn best surgeon state-side.' When she was in the zone, nothing could disturb her. Get between her and her patients, or get on her bad side by disobeying her orders, and that was another matter entirely.

Her ID swipe let her onto the bridge. Fury was waiting for her. Captain Rogers was looking around. A man wearing a worn purple suit and looking rather ill at ease (she knew that it was Dr. Bruce Banner from the file that she had read last night) stood near the briefing table.

"Ah, here she is." Fury looked towards her and nodded once, which she returned. "This is Doctor MacKenna. She's been assigned as the medic for this mission. You go to her for everything that you require medical-wise. Otherwise, don't disturb her."

Bruce Banner laughed slightly. "Even... you know. Even me?"

She faced him directly. "Dr. Banner, it's a privilege to meet you. I've developed a medication strong enough to subdue your other side, if you will allow me to refer to it as such. It's enough to sedate a full-grown elephant, depress its respiratory rate, and restrict the production of epinephrine by the adrenal cortex. I hope not to test it, but be aware that it is available for you should you require it."

Dr. Banner looked shocked, but it turned to appreciation. "Thanks. I'd like to not destroy this... ship, if I lose control."

"So would I, Doctor." She reached out and shook his hand, before turning to Steve. "Captain Rogers. Welcome aboard."

"Ma'am." Her eyebrow cocked.

"Steve, I told you: it's 'Mac'. And please don't call me 'ma'am'. I work for a living." She shivered slightly as she turned her attention to Fury. "Any update so far on the Loki situation?"

At that precise moment, Agent Sitwell raised his voice. "We got a 80% facial match. Stuttgart, Germany. 28 Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding."

Fury turned to Steve. "You're up, Captain. Mac, go with them as backup."

"Got it. Meet me on top in ten, Rogers."

Mac ran back to the infirmary, and snatched what she needed from the trauma supply room. One of her prerogatives when beginning the SHIELD medical program was to make sure that immediate response was key. She set up emergency satchels with the same supplies as a typical hospital crash cart, including oxygen, trauma surgical gear, IV equipment, and drugs. She tucked the communicator in place around her ear as she ran back to her room, testing it with Nickerson on the way. At her room, Mac picked up her weapons. She carried them with her at all times: her Makarov pistol as a sidearm, and her two knives. Both were the length of her forearm and honed to kill.

She arrived at the quinjet at the same time as Steve. He was decked out in his Captain America uniform, shield and all. Coulson had a hand in designing the uniform this time, because it looked almost exactly like the ones on his beloved trading cards. "Just like old times, eh, Steve?"

"Just like old times, Mac."


	5. Chapter 5

Mac watched beside Black Widow in the quinjet as Steve and Loki duked it out between them at the plaza in Stuttgart. She itched to be down there, helping the civilians to clear the area and to take over ground control. As the voice in her mind urged her to go, she had to stay here. For this mission, she was the medic, nothing more... All of her skills, they were not to be used. It was almost like a test for both Steve and Mac: to see if Steve was able to rejoin the ranks, and to see if Mac would follow Fury's orders. She wanted to scoff at that. She knew Fury before he was the Machiavellian master spy that he was now (and honestly, that was complimenting Machiavelli and Cesare Borgia, the man that inspired _The Prince_), and he knew that she would follow his orders. She was never a leader, but more a loner or a follower.

Mac felt a little worry when Steve fell to his knees, but she knew that he would win this fight... especially when Iron Man showed up on the scene with his usual style: "Shoot to Thrill" ringing out on the quinjet speakers, a flashy landing, and (if Mac counted it right) eight small-range missiles aimed right for Loki. Loki gave up easily... almost too easily. Mac refused to let it show on her face. She kept her thoughts to herself, for now.

"Well, dat was fun." She sat back in her chair. "Let's bring 'em aboard, eh?" Mac walked back into the hold with her kit at hand. She could not see any injuries on Steve or Iron Man, but she would need to take a look at Loki. As the only impartial one on this ship, she had a duty as a practitioner of medicine to treat all that came under her care.

Out of habit, her hand raised to the pendants around her neck. Mac had collected these over the years of her life, and each had meaning to her. She looked through them until she found the one that she sought: a silver Thor's Hammer that she had bought when last she was in Birka. She found a sense of comfort in praying to her gods over the course of her life, Thor among them. She had been read into what had happened in New Mexico a year past, but she was off the SHIELD rotation at the time. She would have given her right hand to meet Thor in person, to see the god that she had worshipped for years in the flesh.

For now, she had to settle with Loki: god of mischief, of lies, and a trickster in his own right. One of the Aesir and of the jotunn, he was a force to be reckoned with and never taken lightly. She never prayed to Loki, for that was an easy way to invite chaos into her life. As if she needed any more at this point.

She watched as Steve and Tony Stark escorted him onboard and secured him to the chair. When Mac approached Loki, she crouched before him and assessed him. "What are you doing, Mac?" Steve turned to her and stared. His concern was writ on his face as he took off his royal blue hood.

Mac looked over her shoulder to him. "He may be a prisoner, but he stills bears the right of medical assistance, Captain." Steve had it confirmed, at that moment, that Mac was most definitely different. She would not have given a Nazi the time of day during the War... why do it with a god hell-bent on destroying the planet?

She stood up. Loki spoke up as the quintet took off. "You... you are not like the others."

Mac bowed her head to him. "No. I am not." She knew that, although she did not worship him, it would bode ill not to show any deity respect. After all, they had survived through the years, just like her.

Loki peered his emerald eyes at her. "What are you?" Cocking his head, Mac cold feel him trying to get a read on her.

Mac smiled. "The only one of my kind, Loki Jotun-born, Liesmith, Sly One, Sky Wanderer, Silvertongue, and one-time Odinson."

For the majority of the flight, no one spoke a word. Mac sat opposite of Loki, sharpening her blade. Black Widow was communicating with Fury, but Mac's focus was on Steve and Tony's slightly less than covert discussion. She would have to brush up their education about trade craft.

Steve was looking over at Loki. "I don't like it."

Tony, his Iron Man faceplate off, turned to Steve. "What, Rock of Ages giving up so easily?" Tony Stark turned out to be a relatively attractive man with his piercing blue eyes, the salt-and-pepper beard and goatee, and the face that made women swoon around the world. He, for good luck, was not Mac's type. She had finished having relationships long before Tony was even born.

"I don't remember it being this easy. I mean, this guys packs a wallop." Steve was rotating his shoulder. Mac wanted to shake her head silently. Steve was showing weakness in front of the enemy by showing off the location of his injuries. If she had learned one thing during her time in Italy, it was never to do that. Never reveal any of your cards, until you are sure that you could win the game. They were only in their opening gambit. Why show that your knight was injured or weak until you had a stronger defense set in place?

"Still, you are pretty spry for an older fellow. What's your thing? Pilates?" Tony Stark, from what she had read in his file, handled confrontations most often with sarcasm and a dry wit, neither of which were appropriate in this situation. When Steve did not understand what Tony meant, Stark clarified. "It's like calisthenics. You may have missed a few things, being a Capsicle for so long."

_"Vos pugnatis sicut pueros, et ostenderent imbecillitatis nostrae coram hostibus. Nimirum tradere censet, nisi te audire de se nisi cognoscere quam pugna adiungit. Ita prohibere loquentes." _Mac sheathed her blade and looked at both Tony and Steve with a cocked eyebrow before switching from Latin back to English. "If you have nothing pertinent to say, then don't say anything."

Tony looked perturbed as he turned to Mac and acknowledged her for the first time. "What did you say? Who are you, in fact?"

Mac chuckled once. "My name is Sarah MacKenna, but you will call me either Mac or Doc. As for what I said... it was simply an observation."

At that moment, thunder began to boom in the distance. Lightning rolled around them when it had not done so only minutes before. Loki stared out at the window. Steve caught on to it. "What? Scared of a little lightning?"

Mac turned to Black Widow. "This storm wasn't there before, right?"

"Not a sign." The redhead turned to Mac. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah." Mac turned back to the cargo bay and nearly missed Loki's retort. "...not overly fond of what comes after."

There was a thud on top of the quinjet. Something ripped open the cargo bay doors and grabbed Loki from his restraints. Mac was tossed off her feet and against the hold. She missed what Tony and Steve said to each other on account of the ringing in her ears. When she got up, there was blood running down her face, all three men were missing, and Natasha was looking worried.

"Mac? You alright?"

"Get Loki! Nothing else matters!" Mac healed the cut on her forehead with a thought. The quinjet rocked in the remnants of a sonic wave. Mac managed to hold on to the hold this time as she launched herself at Natasha's chair. "Land da damn bird. Find Stark, Rogers, an' Loki! NOW!"

Rarely did Mac use her battle field voice. She had perfected it over the years so that she could be heard from over one hundred yards away in the heat of battle. It took a fair amount of conditioning to get her body to make such a noise. Now... now seems like the perfect time to use a version of it so as not to damage Natasha's ears but to make herself heard over the din of the storm.

Somehow, they managed to land in the forest where a strange comet-like site was not there before. All four men were waiting for them. This time, Tony had a laceration above his eye, Steve was relatively unharmed, Loki was trying to hold back a devious smile, and the newcomer was holding Loki by his collar.

"Get on, ye idjits. Let's get back ta base withou' hurtin' anyone else, yah?" Mac gestured them onboard.

"My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you." The newcomer grabbed her attention as he shoved Loki into his seat. His shoulder-length blonde hair looked as if he had just stepped off the set of a surfing commercial. He was wearing a crimson red cloak over top sleeveless battle armour. His blue eyes were gentler than Tony's, but they had a thunderstorm broiling in them. When Mac saw the hammer hanging down from his belt, she fell to one knee before him and bowed her.

"My lord, it is an honour to meet you in the flesh. I have been a supplicant of you for many years." Only when Thor helped her to her feet, did she look at him once more.

"You have prayed to me, mortal?" His voice was melodious, like the rain falling during a storm.

"Yes, my lord. In your name, I travelled for years among the people of the north." Mac looked to all of the passengers. "But alas, this is a tale for another time. For now, let us return to our base and confront the issue at hand." She ignored the surprised stares and turned to Natasha. "Are we going or what?"

*-TF-*

_In the Helicarrier's infirmary..._

It had been two days since Mac had woken up. Overall, they had infused her with five pints of her own blood. Now, she was as if she had not been injured in the first place. It was startling for the Avengers to watch as, literally, her wounds healed before their eyes. The burns on her chest were the worst: the old skin scabbed and fell off, leaving behind a fresh layer of unmarked skin. The only injury that remained was one that she had had long before the Battle of Manhattan: a thin scar running from the corner of her left eye to the corner of her mouth. Mac had never told anyone how she had gotten it.

Right now, she was sitting up in her bed, her knees bent towards her. Her head had been shaved for treatment, and it was taking the longest to re-grow; it was still brown stubble, but it somehow suited her. All of the Avengers were sitting around her. Bruce was keeping an eye on her vitals, but they both pretended that they didn't notice. Clint and Natasha were sitting on a bed. Tony leaned against the wall, looking relaxed in jeans and a Black Sabbath shirt. Thor had finally taken off his armor, and was wearing a stormy grey tunic over leather pants. Steve was sitting at the foot of Mac's bed, waiting for her to start speaking.

She had made a promise to Steve to tell her story. That was why she had Sitwell collect her journals while she was healing. Her story was long, too long for one sitting. Even though she was fully healed, she still got tired easily as her body was attempting to return to its equilibrium. While she was sleeping, they could read on and she would fill in the details as she could.

Mac cleared her throat and began. "The first question that I want to bring to you all is this: how old do you think I am?" Her voice never raised above a soft pitch, but everyone heard her.

Tony laughed nervously. "You're kidding, right? What does that have to do with any of this?"

Her grey eyes pierced Tony and he went silent. "It has everything to do with this, Tony. Now, how old do you think I am?"

Thor was the first to hazard. "Perhaps, four-and-six years?"

Mac laughed. "That's a very modest guess, Thor. But I am far older than that."

Clint was next. "A hundred and fifty."

"Still older."

Now the guesses came from everyone. "Two hundred." "Six hundred and sixty-six." "Three hundred fifty." Everyone was tossing out answers, but none of them were right.

Mac held up her hand to stop them. "None of you guessed correctly. It was a long shot, anyway." She started to look nervous. "I was born Scatha, daughter of Crimthann and Orlaith, in what is now County Kilkenny in Ireland. I was born on Samhain in the year..." Her voice began to sound hoarse, so she drank some of the water at her bedside to continue. "In the year 174 BC."

No one spoke as they were doing the math. Thor spoke up first. "You mean to say, Lady Doctor, that you are over two thousand years old?"

"Two thousand, one hundred, eighty six years old." Steve finally spoke up. He looked well past shocked, into the realm of incredulity.

Mac nodded. "I'll be eighty six come Halloween." She looked at all of her teammates. "Do you still want to know?"

Clint looked right at her. "Yes." He came by her side to sit next to her.

Mac smiled and took a deep breath. "This is my story..."

*-TF-*

Translations

1. You fight like children, and show weakness before our enemy. No wonder he thinks to surrender: he will learn more from you by simply listening than by fighting. So stop talking. (Latin)


	6. Chapter 6

Once the quinjet had landed on the Helicarrier and Loki was in the custody of SHIELD's first response team, Mac, once more, made to leave the Avengers for her medbay. She had to return her equipment and begin to write a report up. All the while, there was something nagging at the back of her mind. Something did not feel right in her gut. If Mac had learned one thing over the years, it was that her gut was seldom wrong. But damn, if she could not put a finger on it.

Black Widow stopped her from taking more than a few steps. "Mac, Fury commed me as we landed. He wants you present when they lock Loki in his cell."

Mac quirked her eyebrow. "The cell in the sublevel?" Black Widow nodded, leading to Mac shaking her head and rolling her eyes behind her eyelids. That cell was not made for Loki... but for someone much stronger. Her heart went out to Bruce.

"Oh, and Mac?" As the physician turned back to Romanoff, Natasha looked confused as she relayed the message. "Fury said something about 'you're gonna need the sword'. Any idea what he means?"

"Plenty, Natasha." Mac left without another word. She knew exactly what Fury meant. Once Steve saw it, Mac had a feeling that he would as well. First, she needed to retrieve it from her quarters.

During the War and her stint with the Howling Commandos, Sarah was famed for her unusual choice of weapon. She rarely used a gun, only when she absolutely had no other choice. Nonetheless, her near-perfect marksman scores rivalled Barton's. Now that she had retired herself from fighting, Sarah kept her pride and joy locked away in the footlocker of her quarters, ferrying it with her to and from the Helicarrier, HQ, and her home. She never left anywhere without it. Every day, she devoted at least one hour of practice to it, running through the movements that she had learned so long ago.

It took her only two minutes to unlock the door to her quarters, break the code to her footlocker (she had upgraded the security substantially when she was first given these rooms), and kneel on the cold steel floor. She exchanged her scrubs for her black Kevlar full-body armor, reinforced with vibranium chainmail (a special gift from her friends in Africa). On her left breast was a white patch of a bisected shield: one half an equilateral red cross, stark against the dense black of her armor, and the other half a gold triple spiral and three oak leaves. Her lab coat was removed in favour for her tactical vest, stocked with the tools from her med kit. She stuck her five knives in their holsters under the vest, added the holster to her Makarov to her thigh, before reaching for the last piece of her weaponry.

Wrapped in a piece of virginal white cloth, was her longsword. Mac had taken amazing care of all of her weapons: her training disallowed her to do any less. But this... this was her pride. It was not the original sword that she had first trained with, but a replication that she had crafted while she was Africa before the Second World War. It was to repay a portion of the debt that the people that she had worked with had incurred for her services in assisting them. It was made of a vibranium/steel alloy, balanced and true as she tested it while forging.

Mac's longsword was four feet and six inches in length, from the tip of the pommel to the tip of the blade. Its edges were eternally sharp, both by design and composition of the metal. Two blood groves ran from the middle of the blade to the cross-guard. On the guard itself, the words, '_Ultimum Templarii et Ultimum Druidae'_ were etched. The hilt was wrapped in leather worn smooth from use. The pommel was simple: a red equilateral cross in a circle of steel. The scabbard was steel wrapped in leather, the arabesques on it reminiscent of her times spent in Outremer in her youth. This sword was a perfect representation of everything that Mac prized in herself.

She found herself murmuring a quick prayer as she buckled the sword belt around her waist. _"Morrigan, I have served you since I have been old enough to understand what it is to serve. Know that when I draw my sword, I think of not who I strike down but who I will save. In your name, Goddess wills it, I serve." _She paused for a moment before leaving, breathing and becoming the warrior that she was within.

As she left her quarters and walked down the halls, SHIELD agents all around stared openly. No one had seen Mac like this before. Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword, and her other hand held her StarkPad tablet. She ignored them all as she made her way down to the sublevel, just in time to see Loki's glass cage door lock behind him. She stood behind Fury, watching him.

"In case it isn't clear." Fury walked the few paces from the base of the stairs to the control panel where Mac was standing. Mac could see that losing Barton and Selvig, as well as searching for the Tessaract and dealing with both Loki and the Council, was wearing on him. That was only because Mac knew Fury better than most everyone else, even Coulson. "If you try to escape... you so much as scratch that glass..." With the press of a red button (Mac snorted: how cliche), the floor beneath the cage opened to reveal the hatch leading to the open air. "Thirty thousand feet, straight down in a steel trap. Get it now?" Fury's voice roared over the winds when he pointed to Loki. "Ant." Pressing the button to close the hatch, he looked to the button. "Boot."

Mac expected Loki to do any number of things, but chuckling at his predicament was not one of them. "It's an impressive cage. But not built, I think, for me." Mac cocked an eyebrow. How the hell did Loki know about Bruce, or even the cage's purpose? Had Barton told Loki about SHIELD's secrets?

Fury refused to react. "Built for something a lot stronger than you."

Loki rolled his shoulders, seemingly bored with the conversation. "How desparate are you, that you call on such creatures to defend you?"

Fury's face erupted in anger, but his voice remained calm. "How desparate am I? You threaten my planet with war. You steal a force you cannot hope to control. You talk of peace, and kill because it's fun. You have made me _very _desparate. You might not be glad you did."

"Is it desperation, or frustration that I stole the warm beacon of shining power that you hoped to advance your pathetic race with?" Loki smirked at Fury, before turning to Mac. He cocked his head at her. "What a strange guardian you have here. A woman far out of time, useless and antiquated, and yet she evolves. She's a perfect specimen of humanity: kneeling before the whims of time." Loki finally addressed Mac. "You named me well on your aircraft, healer. Allow me to return the favour." Loki began to stalk in a circle, glaring at Mac the entire time. "Wanderer. Lost. Unloved. Desparate. Doomed to die alone."

Fury wanted to speak, but the sound that came from Mac scared him. Mac chuckled, at first slightly throaty before becoming full-on belly laughs. She wiped a tear from her eyes once it stopped. "Doomed to die alone? Apparently, you know less about me than I gave you credit for, Odinson."

"Do not call me that false name!" That got under Loki's skin. "I am the rightful king of Asgard. When I ascend, I will find you and make you suffer, stretching out the torment until you beg for mercy. Only once you have begged until your voice is gone, will I grant your wish and kill you quickly."

Mac stared at Loki, her face calm once more. "You make a mistake, Loki Silvertongue. I have never begged for mercy, and I shall not do so before a fallen god who thinks himself mighty." With that, she turned to Fury, nodded her head, and walked away. Before leaving, she turned back to Loki once more. _"Akta dig, Loke, att du inte stiga så högt bara för att falla så lågt. Du kommer att misslyckas med att få denna makt du söker, och du kommer att betala för sina kostnader mest dyrt." _Loki looked shocked when she spoke in one of the languages of his worshipers. She did not savor the one-up on the trickster, instead chose to walk alongside Fury to the bridge.

"You gonna tell me what you just said, Mac?" Fury's eye glared at her.

"A warning for Loki, nothing more, Nick." Mac felt at ease in her armor, like an old glove slipping on. At last, she felt entirely like herself, complete. She was who Mac truly was.

"You know that they'll have questions for you when they see you?"

"Wasn't that the purpose of getting me back in my combat rig in the first place?" Mac cocked an eyebrow as they neared the labs.

"No. The purpose was to show your team mates that you are a more than just a medic." Fury dared her to challenge him. They both knew that it was more than just that, but for the record, the purpose was simple.

"Succeeded in that, at least." Mac blew her hair out of her eyes. "Well, might as well face the music. Which way to Stark's lab?"

"Everyone's on the bridge right now. Stark's lab is on the main deck, aft portside. Banner will be there as well, if I know him. Rogers and Thor are wild cards, as with Romanoff. Might as well get back to the infirmary, Mac. Something's comin'... I can feel it." Fury began to walk away, before remembering something. "Make sure to keep in contact with Coulson, yeah?"

"Of course, Nick." She tapped her ear where her Bluetooth was. "Has him on speed-dial." At that moment, Coulson's voice came through into her hearing. "He wants to know what the next play is. That's your cue, Director." She went to turn away. "Do you want me to contact Excalibur Team? Give them a heads up if this goes international?"

"Already done, Mac. Brian and Betsy were among my first calls. The Council is letting the world powers be on alert. It looks like, for now, he's focusing on the US until and if he gets what he wants." Fury turned to look at the cell door. "What's his angle?"

"I've got no clue. It's time for a family convo with Thor. Maybe he knows more about this army that Loki's threatening us with." Mac made her way to the infirmary.

"Hey, Dr. MacKenna!" One of the nursing officers handed her a monthly report and began to yak about that. Mac listened with only one ear, trying to puzzle out this Gordian Knot in front of her. What was Loki's play? There would be casualties: Germany had shown her that. How many and how bad were the questions now left to be answered.

She entered the infirmary and made sure that everything was ready. Her fellow medical officers and non-coms saw the look on her face, the tension in her posture. They assisted making sure that they were ready. The air was tense: they were waiting for the next move on this chessboard. The question was: who would move first?

**AN: Beware, Loki, that you do not rise so high only to fall so low. You will fail to gain this power you seek, and you will pay for its cost most dearly. (Swedish)**


End file.
